


Promised

by Kiah_Trickster



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-01-27 10:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiah_Trickster/pseuds/Kiah_Trickster
Summary: Prophecies tell of one who may save the world, to whom death will bend it's knee and give up those stolen from their cause; though none knew to conquer death one must first face it. Born among salt and smoke to wake the dragons from stone; forged of magic. The games of the high lords have plunged Westeros into more danger than ever before. Will the Promised One come to their aid?
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally post to fanfiction.net. Moving it over to finish it so I only have one account to work from.

_In grief the dragon burned the Iron Throne, reducing the emblem of Westeros, of Targaryen conquest to molten metal poured over marble, cooling as quickly as his mother's body. The woman who had cradled him in her arms when he was young and raised him as a mother would a child, Drogon cradled her carefully in his claws; taking her far from this cold and miserable place._

_He soared East, warming her in the smoke of their homelands, feeling the magic that remained within her lifeless body; it called to him from beyond the grave. Just as she had called to the stone that had once encased him, finding the magic to give three eggs life; and now he was all that was left of them. But she had returned dragons to this world, the world would know her power and magic; for it was never to be without dragons again._

_A dragon could always sense magic, and he followed a sweet song to the Red City, carefully laying the body of his mother on the stone, his roar shaking the foundations of the temple, demanding the magic of this place return her life. For he had returned to the world for a purpose, and dragons were not made to grieve; nor to be alone._

…

There was only blackness, it pressed tightly and endlessly around her. The world was gone, her senses were gone and so was the pain, it seemed as if time had stopped. Daenerys wanted to cry and scream or see the world again; to see her son once more.

She had no sense of time, or place, what had happened; but one memory was clear, and it was her last. Until she heard the faintest whisper of a voice, it surrounded her like a warm blanket, twining around her as smoke filled the air. The acrid haze burned her nostrils and as Daenerys choked on it and panic flooded her system.

Her eyes flew open, a woman stood above her, hands holding her down as she chanted. Fear raced through her and Daenerys struggled, but the woman was stronger than she looked; she could not break free and moments flashed before her eyes.

Jon's face as he looked at her, the pain in his face did not match what exploded in her chest, Tyrion's betrayal; and Varys. The table she lay on trembled and her head whipped around, a lump forming in her throat as she stared into smoldering dark eyes; Drogon watched menacingly and that made her feel safer. Daenerys struggled again, this time gaining enough purchase sit up.

She didn't know where she was, nor the woman who was chanting; but she recognized the choker around her neck and the red robe. Drogon crouched with his wings tucked in under himself to watch what the woman was doing, her hands still wrapped tightly around Daenerys' shoulders. The smoke swirled higher and shadows danced within it, faces she knew; friends she had lost. In desperation she reached out for them.

"No!" The woman broke the incantation, one arm wrapping around her. "Be still."

"Where am I? Who are you?" Daenerys demanded, the woman's touch was warm, and her skin still felt cold.

"I am Kinvara, high priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. You have questions, I know you must." The woman murmured; a hand still wrapped around her arm. "But you are alive, and your life force calls with the power of your blood; the promise of your birth."

And before she could protest the woman began to chant again, Daenerys looked down, her fingers running over the mark where the knife slid between her ribs; she knew the woman spoke the truth. And she remembered being told of the Red Priestesses supporting her advisors during the unrest in Mereen. But it did not make sense.

Suddenly a familiar voice made ice run through her veins; a voice she was never meant to hear again. "Khaleesi?"

"Ser Jorah?" She spun, trying to jerk free of the woman who held her, still chanting; Jorah strode from the smoke. He was dressed as he had been the day she said goodbye, when she reached out with her free hand he wrapped it in his and it felt as though a spark raced up her arm; his skin was warm.

"Khaleesi?" He murmured again; the question still in his voice; she only nodded feeling tears well in her eyes.

The woman's chant rose, and the smoke swirled higher, but as she looked around the shadows did not dance now; no, the figures within the smoke became clearer and she knew them all. Next came Missandei, the scar on her throat thick and broad but her friend's eyes were full of tears and Daenerys shifted; hugging her tightly as her own tears fell.

As if becoming a quiet observer Jorah stepped to the side, and she felt his hands run over her shoulders, he tucked the thick fur of his cloak around her as warriors began to pour from the smoke. Dothraki and Unsullied, many whose names she did not know, men who had died defending Mereen years ago and others who had lost their lives the North; fighting a war far from their homes.

Another familiar face shouldered his way through the crowds of men, now pressing together in the rear of the chamber; trying to stay clear of her dragon who still crouched before the alter she sat upon. Daenerys smiled as Ser Barristan Selmy approached and when she offered her hand, he dipped his head.

"How is this possible?" The man breathed in awe.

"She is the one that was promised, she will rebuild this world with blood, and dragon fire; generations have waited for her believing they sought a man. Daenerys Stormborn is the promised one; and all who died for her cause rise with her." The priestess spoke, finally releasing her arm; and the smoke faded.

Suddenly there was a great screech and a shadow darkened the window, Drogon jerked up so fast he nearly brought the building down upon them. Shuffling his great mass backwards, awkwardly, until he was able to take flight himself with a screech of his own that was answered again; three silhouettes soared over the sea and hope lurched in her heart.

This was real, Missandei's hand remained clasped in hers and Jorah stood less than a pace behind her; he did not disappear when she reached out to touch him. She had seen both of them die, seen their bodies and been able to do nothing; now she could.

"All of you have given your lives for me once already and I have no right to ask any of you to risk them again. I know what you lost." Daenerys rose to stand, the sturdy stone table giving her some vantage as she looked out over the crowded room; there were more beyond the chamber too. She let the cloak slip a little as she ran her fingers over her own scar; thinking of that moment again.

As she stopped speaking, she swallowed hard, her eyes sweeping the room, as she turned to her right, she found that Jorah had already knelt, and each man followed suit until only the Red Priestess stood in the room. Emotion rolled through her, perhaps it would have been simpler had they walked away; each to live their own lives; but certainly this meant there was something more. It meant her dream lived on, despite what had happened; despite what she had done.

"You are free to go, go and live if that is what you want. But if you wish to stay then you will fight with me; you will fight for change. For a world where slavers' ships do not prey upon the Southern Isles, where the Horde fights for a purpose. I fight to right the wrongs of this world and my own, for if my cause was lost, I would not be here; none of us would be."

The Red Priestess continued to murmur about the promised one and R'hllor answering the prayer of generations. She had heard of this prophecy before, another Red Woman had come to Dragonstone speaking of this prophecy; but that woman had no proof; and had declared others to be the promised one before.

That she stood here, aware and whole was proof, that she stood surrounded by those she had lost was proof over again for men and women who stood whole had not been bodies to resurrect. Jorah had been burned on the pyre in the North, Ser Barristan buried hundreds of miles away in Mereen and she did not know what had become of Missandei's body. Yet they stood here with her, flesh made warm and whole again; just as hers had been. And beyond the window three dragons soared together once more.

When Jorah helped her down from the table Daenerys roamed forward, scanning the faces as she passed, she stopped no one from reaching out to touch her and those that cowered she reached out to herself; she could owe no man more than these. These were the men who had honored their oaths unto death, they had served her and died for her; suddenly she stopped in her tracks.

Men had stood again, jostling to touch her, but as she stood still, they sensed to give her peace; Daenerys watched as a young Dothraki man, his braid only past his shoulders embraced a woman. She knew both well, or she had; but years had passed since she'd seen them. Irri and Rakharo held each other tightly until they realized she had approached; Daenerys could only smile a little. She remembered how her friend had feared for the blood rider's final rest, and she would never forget the young man's loyalty or bravery. What magic was this that it could draw back any man from the grave?

Thousands of men stood in the temple, and the yard beyond it; Daenerys roamed as the Red Priestess took to the street; declaring the prophecy to those who watched uneasily from their windows and doorways. Men shifted, looking at each other and their scars as they tried to process what had happened and how they ended up here.

The priestess took charge, the people of the community brought out blankets for men to make into bedrolls; she was shown to a room in the back. Kinvara also produced her clothes, removed for the ceremony and still stained with blood; Irri took them before Missandei could. Daenerys took her friend's hand, and caught Missandei's, stopping them both for a moment; she was thankful that they were here.

In the early hours of the morning she finally settled to sleep, but it was not peaceful. She was back in the battle of Winterfell, on that blood-stained field piled high with the dead who had crumbled again; and Jorah with them. And then Jon….

"Khaleesi!" She was jolted awake, Irri's face above her and for a moment she was confused; but Missandei was right behind her. "Are you alright Khaleesi?"

"I am okay. I will be okay." She took a steadying breath, recognizing her friends; remembering what had happened last night. Trying to push the other memories aside. "Will you find Ser Jorah?"

…

He filed into the bath house with the rest of the men, stripping off his coat and then the clothes beneath to hang them on a hook. The steaming water would feel good, perhaps it had something to do with returning to this world, but he felt oddly stiff; and his mind was racing.

"Seven hells." He heard the muttered curse and realized there was more than a few men sneaking looks at him, Ser Barristan had spoke. "What happened to you?"

That could be taken a few ways, but the man had already seen him, uneasily Jorah looked down at his chest, the scars of grey scale were bad enough but there were others now and he didn't count them. Jorah took a towel and went to find a spot in the bath, and began to scrub his skin, trying to sort out what this was. He was not sure how this was possible, let alone the reason for it.

He remembered the charge against the dead, and then the fight; the battle that never seemed to end. But after that his memory was blank, it was darkness until he saw her. Thick smoke had rolled in and he saw her lying on that table; the witch standing beside her.

Jorah had reached for his sword only to find he didn't have one, that didn't stop him; he stepped forward and kept going until he saw her sit up. There was shock in her face as she reached to him, and when their hands met a spark raced through him. Suddenly there were others behind him, around them; men who had died years ago.

And then he realized he was one of them, she had been one as well and that burned inside him; they'd lost the war then. The words that witch kept repeating were true, but what stung more was he did not know what they had done to the Khaleesi.

"Ser Jorah?" A soft voice called from the doorway; a woman's voice had the men shifting uneasily.

Jorah rose quickly and wrapped a towel about his waist, the woman didn't enter, and he stopped to pull on his breeches, pulling his shirt closed as he went to the door. Missandei stood quietly in the hall and he couldn't help noticing the rough scar across her throat; they all kept the marks of death then.

"She needs you." Missandei told him quietly, and her eyes told him to hurry.

Jorah followed her back through the maze of halls, pausing a moment before he asked the question that was weighing on his mind. "What happened after Winterfell?"

"We went south, I don't know what happened to the Khaleesi; I was captured by Cersei Lannister." She whispered; he heard the pain in her voice. "I don't know what happened to Grey Worm."

When she stopped before a door he nodded and knocked lightly; waiting for an answer. The Khaleesi looked tired, though she'd found some proper clothes at some point; she'd been crying. And as he approached, she reached out, Jorah felt the familiar pang of emotion as he offered his hand and she pulled him to sit on the edge of the bed; she wanted comfort.

The Khaleesi rolled towards him and lay her head in his lap, reaching for his hand once more. "What is this Jorah?"

"I don't know." He murmured, hesitantly running his palm over her hair.

"Why?" She whispered, the desperation in her voice. There was nothing to say just now, Jorah only stroked her hair; hoping to soothe her.

She didn't sleep long, waking often with questions he could not answer; but she was talking in her sleep and he had pieced together a little of it by morning. Jorah only dozed lightly, his fingers tangled in her hair from trying to calm her.

She was asleep as Irri and Missandei entered, Jorah winced but hesitated to wake her. Irri shook out her coat and as she lay it across the foot of the bed, he saw patch and the stain the woman hadn't quite been able to get out; anger tightened in his gut. He knew the placement and the thrust, he wanted to know who had slid a knife between her ribs. As she woke Jorah rose to go, trying to subtly crack his back as he headed for the door.

"Wait Ser Jorah." She stopped him, even as Missandei began to comb her hair. "We need to speak."

He nodded turning on his heel, waiting for the women to finish tending her; as Missandei helped her with the coat he turned back. Missandei began to step back he watched her catch the woman's hands.

"We will find Grey Worm." She promised, that meant as far as she knew Grey Worm had survived; it did not answer how they had all arrived here. "I will speak with Kinvara this morning."

The two women she had relied on did not know each other, but he hoped they realized that both had been very dear to her. He remembered her heartbreak at finding Irri on the floor of her chamber, Missandei had become dear to her but certainly had not replaced the young Dothraki in her heart; he could sense the two women trying to feel each other out.

Then he suspected they all were doing a little of that, the Khaleesi had spared him more than a few questions last night; he had no doubt Ser Barristan would have words for him. They had all served, every man here at one time or another; though he noted neither her brother nor her husband had rose. Perhaps because neither man had truly seen her, or because they had died before she bore the dragons back to life; he knew both had a part in sending her on her journey.

"I thought I would never see you again." Her soft whisper pulled him from his thoughts.

"I am here Khaleesi." He reassured her, remembering how fragile she had seemed last night.

"I put your body on a pyre outside Winterfell, and I said goodbye to the only man who truly believed in me." His throat tightened as she rounded on him, those pretty green eyes were sad and focused. "The only man who truly loved me."

"Khaleesi." He whispered, unable to say any more after hearing her say such a thing.

"I've made mistakes, I do not deserve this; I don't even know what this is. I don't know if I can do it again." She murmured, and as she leaned into his chest Jorah glanced down at her. He wanted to ask what had happened, and who had harmed her; but he knew better.

"Khaleesi, you can. I've seen you do the impossible time and time again; but you do not have to do it today." He knew her guard was down; she did not understand this any more than the rest of them; but she was at the center of it.

And this, the two of them and all the people who had returned with them, it had taken magic more powerful than anything he had ever heard of. Yet he had not missed the Red Woman's words. _"Death has bent the knee to the promised one, the great war is coming on the winter winds. The war for the world has come."_


	2. Chapter 2

_Through the cold grey sky an ancient hawk soared; stretching its broad wings as it rose higher; following the great ice wall across the land. It searched for signs of life, for friend or foe though its eyes were blank. Dipping low, sighting men flowing through the gate, returning to the lands beyond the wall. Seeing them the hawk's eyes cleared and it flew on, returning to its master once more._

_"Man returns once again." The woman sat up, aware of the leaves and vines on her body instead of her hawk's feathers; knowing her sight animal would return to her._

_"They were meant to stay in the wall." A voice poured from a perch behind her, the quiet observer finally spoke._

_Around the circle there were murmurs of annoyance, but another voice spoke; deep and low. "They will be dealt with; but we have greater concerns. A dragon lives."_

_The beak opened once more, but he did not speak; they had shown him the truth of the past. Of all that had been lost as man, in their fear of magic routed it from the world, naïve to the truth that the foundations of the world were steeped in magic. They could be separated no more than heart and body; there was no life without it._

_And they had fought too long to give up now, their magic had grown strong in secret as the fire of this world faded. Man had thrown back the dragons for them, and the dragon lords were finally extinct, for the last with dragon's blood breathed no fire._

…

"He is valuable." Kinvara murmured, her eyes roamed over Jorah who had crossed to the door; a man offered him a sword belt. Likely one of the priestess' followers, all morning they had been coming and bringing gifts.

"Ser Jorah is very loyal…"

"No, he is different. He has suffered greatly for your cause; he gave his life for yours." The priestess spoke softly, looking back to her. "I called for many days, for your life and theirs. But he is the one who stepped into the smoke."

Daenerys found herself smiling softly as she watched him examining the blade a moment before sliding the sword back into the sheath and wrapping the belt around himself. Some of the Dothraki had their arakhs, it was their custom to lay warriors to rest with their weapons for the afterlife; but many others did not. Jorah had been laid on a pyre without a weapon and she had seen him reach to his hip for the weapon that was like an extra limb.

"Ser Jorah is a friend." The priestess had yet to tell her much, the woman had spent the morning speaking to her congregants and patrons who had heard of last night. "He has been beside me since the start."

"And now he has been returned to you." The priestess murmured. "As you have been to us, I have seen generations live and die enslaved to this world; waiting for the promise to be fulfilled. For the promised one to come from the West."

"How much time has passed since the battle for Kings' Landing?" She asked quietly, by now Jon would have seated himself upon the throne. What had he done with her army? What had become of the people that followed her across the Narrow Sea, deep into the North for those that betrayed her, and South once more?

"Several moons have passed; one has passed since your dragon brought you here. I had only the spell, handed down through the ages; as old as the prophecy itself. It took time." Kinvara looked saddened at that and Daenerys frowned.

"And what has happened in that time?" She asked, perhaps the stories of the West had made there way here; Volantis was a port city.

But the priestess did not speak of the West, instead Daenerys listened as she explained how slavery had quickly risen again in Dragon's Bay, many she had freed only a few years ago had been slaughtered resisting. Slavers sailed south and roamed East into the Dothraki Sea, attacking and looting the tribes left in peace since the horse lords became her khalasar; desperate to regain the currency they favored. The woman did not mention the Second Sons and Daenerys hesitated to ask. Would he have remained loyal when word of her death came? Or had he turned before that?

When she asked of Westeros, the country of her birth she saw the challenge in the woman's eyes. "The West had its chance; in the age of heroes one rose to champion their cause and throw back their enemies; they chose. Our promised one set her heart upon Westeros and championed their cause; they slid a knife into her heart. They do not call upon R'hllor, they do not wait upon the world you will build."

"The Iron Throne of Westeros was my birth right; I only took what was stolen from my family." Daenerys looked down as Kinvara clasped her hands, she heard conviction in the woman's voice.

The woman looked slightly disheartened, but a member of the temple approached to whisper in the priestess' ear, a flame etched into her cheek. Daenerys shifted uneasily, and then slid away as Kinvara rose to attend to the matter; she escaped the temple to walk along the shore for a moment.

The temple was on the sea, a fine stone walkway meandered out above the waves, Jorah and Ser Barristan shadowed her; the latter fell back as the dragons approached. But Daenerys frowned as two great forms descended from the sky, it lifted her heart to see them for their deaths had broken her; Viserion and Rhaegal landed with surprising grace.

Still, she scanned the sky and looked out over the sea; Drogon was not with them. But the two dragons eased closer, Viserion's scar was covered in golden tissue, bright against the cream of his chest; Rhaegal's was bronze against the green of his throat; scarred like the scales of their backs. But both threw the vibrant red and orange flame of the living and as she stroked her youngest's snout, notably smaller than even Rhaegal; she was relieved. And both vied for her attention, unconcerned that Jorah stood behind her, though they let few but her get so close to them; they had known him all their lives.

Viserion had died bravely, but her youngest was also the sweetest; low clicks of contentment rumbled in his throat as he pressed closer. Rhaegal was not to be ignored and while she knew Jorah was watching, it was Ser Barristan who shifted uneasily as the dragon nudged her none too gently; demanding she pet him too. Daenerys did not mind, tending to her sons was comforting and it felt familiar; it was the first thing that did today.

…

He spent most of the day at the Khaleesi's side, but in the moments when he did step away, he found that those who had returned with them were having an easier time coping with this than she was. But she was not alone, Rakharo was fiercely loyal to her cause and had confused the Westerosi knight when he questioned the man's presence; it took Jorah a few moments to smooth that over.

It seemed they all had the shared experience, living their lives and their deaths, standing in blackness until the smoke rolled in; and rejoining her in the Red Temple without knowing how much had happened since they left. The Dothraki and Unsullied turned to each other, men piecing the journey together until the last which no one seemed to know. Ser Barristan had questioned him, last the man had known Jorah had been sent back I to exile, a threat in his eyes until the Khaleesi herself caught them; chiding the Queens guard sternly.

"Ser Jorah saved my life many times over and gave his own for mine. His place is at my right hand." The fire in her voice had them both dipping their heads.

She dismissed Ser Barristan but motioned for him to stay with her, he knew today had been trying. The Red Priestess' words had not comforted her, and he knew the army that rose with her was a responsibility weighing upon her; that Drogon had taken off sometime in the night did not help.

In the privacy of her room Jorah chose a spot by the door; unsure how long she would want him once Missandei and Irri came. But the Khaleesi roamed to the window and then glanced back to him. "What do you know of this faith?"

"The lord of light is worshiped throughout the East, the faithful believe fire is a manifestation of his power and priestess' have used it to raise men from the grave and execute nonbelievers. Efforts have been made in the West, but the faith of the seven is still dominant there; few embrace change." He reported quietly, knowing she had encountered the priestess in the West.

"No, they do not like change." The Khaleesi murmured, he saw emotion flood her eyes and wondered again what had happened when she went South. "But does the East? And what claim do I have to it? Already they cast aside what I built in Dragon's Bay and turned back to their old ways."

"Khaleesi, under the Valyrians much of Essos was united; only crumbling into city states after the doom. They learned their ways centuries ago, Valyrians conquered them and enslaved them and they have kept to those ways. It was you who changed three of them." And he knew it would hurt her to know that the poor of those cities had once again been put in collars and chains.

"How did Westeros condemn slavery?" She asked after a moment, and he shook his head, he did not know exactly how it had been outlawed; only that it had happened thousands of years ago. But he would find out.

Jorah left her when the women came to help her with her evening routine, he hoped time with her friends might soothe her a little. He retreated to find his own evening meal and get some sleep; he was bunked in a huge chamber at the back of the temple; with so many men they were bunking wherever there was space.

After a cold meal he was one of the first to find his bedroll, but he had not slept much last night and with clothes meant for Northern Westeros he stripped off his coat, lappets and sword belt before stretching out. The room did not settle for a long time as men filtered in to find their spots and sleep, eventually Jorah slept.

But he woke later as others in the room stirred, rubbing his face blearily as a small figure moved between the rows. He saw a man roll, pointing in his direction before hunkering down again and Jorah shifted to sit up; Irri came towards him.

"The Khaleesi cannot sleep; she asks for you." The woman told him quietly and Jorah rose, trying to shake the sleep from his mind.

"Go get some sleep." He instructed Irri, he knew the young woman would not rest until she knew the Khaleesi was taken care of.

He found his way to the door of her chamber and knocked softly. She was up tonight, her face was pale as she turned to him, her eyes had a hollow look and he knew she had been dreaming again. Jorah was cautious as he closed the door, she was alone, but he knew Missandei would have come to her side.

She wore a thin slip of a nightgown that was too big for her, but he did not miss how her palm rested against her ribs. He knew the dream that had disturbed her tonight and Jorah felt anger tighten in his gut as he thought of her in pain; in knowing it was hurting her now.

"I am sorry for what happened to you." She came to him.

"Do not be sorry." He murmured, hating that was where her mind was. "Tell me how to help you Khaleesi."

"Just be here." She whispered, moving to sit on the bench at the end of the bed.

He nodded and eased down to sit near her, after a few moments she eased closer and leaned her head onto his shoulder. "We won the war in the North. But I lost you, we went south, and I lost Rhaegal. I listened to Tyrion and I lost Missandei."

Jorah listened, he had gleaned bits and pieces of the story already, but it didn't matter; she needed to talk. She told him of Varys' betrayal and Jorah rested a hand on her shoulder as she began to tell him of King's Landing. The people had fled into the Red Keep, still turning to Cersei Lannister to protect them; to the queen who broke her word.

Jorah was quiet, he suspected there was strategy there that she wasn't seeing, more had likely died because of that; but she had been reacting. She had been hurting and alone, and her temper had overruled in a terrible way, but she grieved that now. And that annoyed him, the men who turned from her had served her long enough to know she had a temper; but rather than encourage her they had tried to bend her to their will.

The Khaleesi was not a woman who bent easily, but her heart could be swayed and when she felt safe, she would allow glimpses of her gentle side. And her had fire served her well, it had strengthened her through challenges that many would not have survived, it drove her to fight for what she believed in despite the odds.

Eventually she drifted to sleep, he wrapped an arm around her to keep her from slipping and then shifted; hefting her into his arms. He tucked her into her bed and eased to sit on the edge as she curled back into him instinctively; she did not want to be alone.

But he was not sure what to make of this, she only wanted comfort and yet it was difficult to hold her close and tell himself she wanted nothing more. She was a beautiful woman and the feeling of her pressed against him stirred old thoughts; she was a beautiful woman. Though he knew the Khaleesi had found her taste in men and she did not see him in that way; they had something else. Still, he was careful to be up early, sitting on a chair by the bed well before anyone would be coming to look for her.

Yet when she stirred, she told him Missandei and Irri had been instructed to come late this morning. She climbed from the bed to join him, the hollow look lingered in her eyes and when she ran her fingers over her scar once more he reached out.

She paused in front of him, but she did not pull back as his hand covered hers. "Who did this?"

"Jon." The name was soft, but he heard, and he saw the pain it caused her to say it.

She shifted and he felt the roughened scar through the thin fabric as her hand slid aside; resting on his forearm. The scar was small, far too small to have been made by a sword and that gave him the smallest comfort; but it meant Jon Snow had been as close to her as he was now. And he knew what the two of them had been, she had trusted the man and needed to feel close to someone. Jon Snow had used that to betray her; he would not forget.

They were interrupted a moment later by a knock and when the Khaleesi called out his hands were at his side, but surprise rolled through him. A young woman entered with a heavy tray, he had not seen her before, but he noticed the small tattoos on her face; one was very fresh.

"Who are you?" The Khaleesi demanded as Jorah shifted to stand; Volantis had a booming slave trade, but they were clever, and he was not sure she knew what the tiny marks meant.

"I am Sura. I have brought your breakfast." The young woman spoke softly, her lilting voice clear, the girl was fair and pretty; someone had paid a high price for her. "I am yours now..."

"Khaleesi." He interrupted, his tone grave; either someone had made a grave error, or a calculated choice. "The Volanteens tattoo their slaves so they cannot escape; they do not always wear collars."

"You are a slave?" She looked between him and the young woman; she was hoping he was wrong.

"My master gave me to the temple; to serve the Promised One." Sura whispered, clearly afraid of what the Khaleesi was going to do.

Jorah watched as she drew close, the young woman nearly trembled as the Khaleesi traced a finger lightly over the marks on her cheek; one still red and sore. He sensed her mood changing and saw the anger rising inside her, he knew Sura did too, but she did not know her well enough to know why. "How old are you?"


	3. Chapter 3

_The raven flew south, returning to its lonely world, he was always reluctant to leave the shelter of their hall. There was much yet for him to learn, and he would be the first in thousands of years to know his true purpose; to know the past._

_"We should give him a wolf." One spoke, the ancient being had seen the Great Raven die, and all that came after him, fleeing from their calling while civilizations rose and fell._

_Hawk nodded quietly, there would always be the blood of man in their raven; but this one knew his magic. Already the boy came regularly in his animal form, drawn to their hearth, the magic within him called to his true people._

_"Not yet, much of the boy remains in him; he need not be reminded that he is man." Falcon's low voice carried a command, their elder had seen a great deal. "The raven that made him never knew the truth."_

_"It is the Raven I think of." Slowly rising, the ancient one stood. "He does not know he danced with the grave, he believes the boy he was is still within his past. Give him a tie to the house he believes he came from. Let the wolf howl, as his animal binds him to his magic so that he may see the captivity man would hold him in; you know the true sight can bind to any form."_

_"In time." Falcon promised. "He is learning, we must control what he sees until he is ready; show him the reasons for what we do."_

_The elder, long since having taken the namesake of his spirit; as Hawk herself had done, remembered a time when they were free. It was his stories Hawk had grown on, his tales of crossing the depths in their animal spirits to discover this land; a land in which they could be free and safe._

_His stories of the weak who divided them, who mated the enemy that hunted them, destroyed their ancient trees, fought with man against their own kind and secreted their leader away for centuries. The weak and hateful creatures who bonded their powers to man, to those who destroyed them and drove them into hiding deep in the frigid lands of ice before they lost their lives. Hawk had seen the last of them finally die, along with the raven that never served them. But Falcon was one of the elders who had stood witness to the Great Tragedy and the fall of their leader; the day true sight bound to man eternally._

_For the Great Raven, defeated in battle, died without an heir or one of his own kind to take. As he lingered between life and the grave, his spirit fled his body, seeking its animal one last time; until a man stepped between. The true sight of the Forest, the mark of their ruler and seat of power, sought a life between this world and the next; and ever since it was there that the next Raven gained life._

…

Kinvara did not flinch as Daenerys questioned her, anger flared inside of her as she glanced back to the young woman who kept her head down; standing five paces behind them. But a man who had stood in the shadows stepped forward.

"If this gift does not please you, let me offer you another." The man's accent was thick, and the Red Priestess finally reacted; her shoulders sank as though disappointed.

"Do not offer me a life that is not yours to give, and do not believe I will fulfill the prophecy you hope for if it is to be paid in chains. Sura is mine now and I free her, no slave shall serve me. Put her in chains or brand her face again and you will face my fire." She spat coldly, the anger that raced through her system thrumming dangerously.

"My people do not know what they need, they know only the ways they have been shown. But you can cleanse the sin from the land, burn it away and build anew…" Kinvara spoke, her voice low and sweet but Daenerys only felt horror creeping into her body. Was that what the priestess believed to be the only way?

That could not be why she lived, unnerved by all of it she retreated to her room; pacing in frustration. She instructed Sura to move to the chamber her handmaids were sharing, the young woman would not enter her service unless she chose to; but she wouldn't be returning to a master. The girl still wavered as if expecting to be struck, Daenerys sent Missandei to help her settle; no one could better understand what she was feeling.

"Khaleesi." Jorah's voice was calm, he stood just inside the door; he had watched the exchange moments ago, but he did not back away.

"Do they want me to set the world on fire? Is that what they believes justice is?" Daenerys vented, knowing he would listen, he always seemed to understand; even when he didn't agree. "I have no claim here, I did not ask to come, nor I do believe these cities want me anymore than the Seven Kingdoms do."

Mereen, and all of Dragon's Bay had wasted no time putting aside the system she had built before the moon of her death waned; within a lifetime man had been freed and enslaved once more. Had she remained in the grave all that she worked for, all that the men with her had died for would have been forgotten.

Even in the free cities that claimed to abhor the practice collared slaves could be found upon the estates of the rich, their gates guarded by Unsullied bought with gold. The Tyroshi, Volantenes and other cities flaunted their slaved trade, and nothing changed; all they paid was lip service. Proof once more that this was not her home, yet Westeros felt just as foreign.

"You do have a claim Khaleesi, if you choose it, because of your vision and your birth." Jorah told her quietly, unphased by her temper; blue eyes warm and gentle. "Once the Valyrian freehold stretched over much of Essos, long before your house was Westerosi; they were Valyrian. These are the lands Old Valyria held."

"You would have me claim a title built upon slavery and sorcery?" She glared; the wheel built in that ruined city rolled on, holding the poor and weak of the world in terror; it was that wheel that she had sworn to break. That she had failed to break.

"Slavery and sorcery did not build the Valyrian freehold, those were the currencies the high lords pursued for their own gain. Dragons built Valyria, Khaleesi, with them the Valyrians ruled for millennia. And with them your ancestors conquered Westeros." Jorah did not flinch under her gaze.

And she sighed, falling quiet as he was right, the currency of a nation was chosen by those who led it. It had taken dragons to subdue Mereen's unrest, and Drogon had breached the walls of King's Landing. With all of her sons restored, stronger and larger than ever before, and the two most feared fighting forces of the East in her camp few would be able to resist her.

Yet if it came to war thousands would die, even more would suffer; and the seasons had changed here as well. She had seen enough of war; she had lost everything in the last; including the man who advised her now. Perhaps things would have been different had he survived Winterfell and been at her side, but then they would not be here and maybe she was meant for this.

She rolled it all around in her head as the day went on, assigning Ser Barristan to take stock of their men and where they might make a proper camp; she knew one thing. They could not remain here if she was to be a tool of the Red Priestess, she would not spend a second chance at life on someone else' agenda; not if it went against everything she believed in. Perhaps the priestess wanted what was best for her people, or maybe she wanted to justify her beliefs with dragon fire and increase her own power; Daenerys would not lend her own.

That evening Missandei and Irri tended her, having settled their young room mate to rest after a trying day. Her friends had struggled to get Sura to settle, but they had learned that girl was from Lys, sold into slavery by her own parents when they had too many young mouths to feed. Daenerys knew what the second mark on the child's face meant, the flame for the temple; and the tear of a prostitute.

After the two went to their own beds Daenerys struggled to sleep, imagining a child sold to a pleasure house, thinking of the thousands she had freed with the promise of a new life in chains again. Their children stolen from their arms as their lives were given to another. Was that not the fate she had been meant for?

Sold, a wife for an army, a tool to serve her brother's claim to the Iron Throne before she took it for herself. She took it because she could, she had been raised a free woman and found her voice; and her strength. But she'd had other advantages she thought, she'd had a loyal champion from the start and tonight she missed him. That she did not wake screaming in her sleep meant her handmaids got some sleep; as did Jorah. But she got little, tossing and turning until morning.

She had shared her bed with men before, but generally for a purpose, the last two nights it had been different. Jorah's frame was warm and solid, his arms made her feel safe and she missed the comfort he gave. Still he looked rested this morning and when he shadowed her down to the shore that morning, she watched him.

She knew he'd desired her in the past; but they both knew it could not happen. And Jorah had been willing to put that aside, serving her loyally as a dear friend. He was not like Daario; he might not care about the title he took; but he would have wanted her to be his alone. And her marriage needed to be an alliance, but things were different now.

The man she had once loved had betrayed her, letting the cities she rebuilt fall back into slavery, the man she had offered everything to, who she asked to rule with her had slid a knife into her chest. The men she chosen had not been true to her, Jorah may not be the man she imagined she would have, but he was safe, his loyalty was proven; and there was a comfort in that.

His eyes were scanning the sky before she could, in her heart she already knew; only two of her sons were gliding towards her. Drogon was not here, yet a strange calm quieted the worry that grew within her; he was independent, but he would find her. He had left once before but when she needed him, he was always there.

As she stroked Rhaegal's snout, she noticed Viserion had shifted back a little, giving Jorah space to stand near her; a crowd was already gathering, pointing and murmuring as they looked at the dragons. Her dragons knew him, he was one of the only people they would let get so close without threatening; but Viserion's snout was less than a foot away from him. And while Jorah might be tense the dragon was not; she wondered what her son would do if he reached out to touch his snout.


	4. Chapter 4

Jorah moved quickly through the corridor, seeking the Khaleesi as she had assigned him a task this morning; it had taken far longer than he expected. Yet it had been worth it, she would want to hear what he'd learned.

He had roamed the streets, eavesdropping on the gossip of the city. But when he stepped into a tavern and happened upon a sailor, already somewhat drunk; the man had sailed from King's Landing, for the spices of the Jade Sea. The man wanted to play cards, a friendly drunk who was more than willing to talk when there was a drink in his hand and some coin on the table.

Given they'd come back with few resources Jorah did pocket the gold he won, it wasn't really winning off a table of drunks, though he tucked a few coins into the unconscious sailor's shirt; information was worth that much. Some of the men who joined them were sell swords for the nobles of the city, Jorah learned more than he'd bargained for.

"Khaleesi?" He called, knocking softly on her door.

"You have news?" She asked as he entered, rising from where Missandei had been working her hair; nodding for the woman to leave. He paused, sorely tempted to start with a point of interest rather than a report; and as Missandei sidestepped to pass him, he lay a hand on her arm.

"Forgive me, I know you wanted news of the Triarch, but I met a Westerosi sailor in a tavern." He glanced to the Khaleesi; he did not wish to counteract her instruction but Missandei would want to hear this. "Jon Snow does not rule Westeros, Bran Stark does, the Unsullied sailed..."

"Where did they go?" Daenerys demanded, crossing to wrap an arm around her friend.

"That I do not know, South, but they are alive, and they have your ships." Jorah murmured, there was a little more on that matter but neither woman wanted to hear of politics just now. "They still believe you are dead; they may be trying to find a home..."

"They are going to Naath." Missandei whispered, her face slightly pale as she spoke; he heard the hope in her voice."

"We will find them." The Khaleesi promised, holding her tightly, determination in her eyes.

Jorah only nodded, watching as she held her friend; whispering reassurances to her before letting her go for the night. Her hair hung long and lose for the night, seeing her with her friend reminded him of when he first met her. She had been through more than many had to endure in a lifetime, she had been hardened by it; but there was still a gentleness within her.

Once the door closed, she turned to him, the gentleness in her tucked away again; he wondered if she was annoyed that he had not given the report she wanted. He began to tell her of what he'd picked up from the hired swords who'd joined the table. The Triarch would meet at the turn of the moon, by then she was sure to be a topic of discussion.

"And their businesses?" The Khaleesi questioned, having sent him to learn what he could of Volantis' rulers.

"They've varied investments." Men with that amount of wealth usually did, but he knew what mattered. "Members of the Triarch have always had a hand in the slave trade; these three are no different."

"What place does the Red Temple have in their politics?" Her focus was sharpening, she was not willing to trust their host blindly; and her confidence in them was waning.

"There is a priest or priestess advising many of the great households; the influence varies person to person. Throughout the East the faith in the red god is common." Jorah told her.

He had been raised in the North, his ancestors held to the faith of the old gods, he had only begun to understand the varied beliefs of the East when he had to leave his homeland. While she had been raised in the East and shown some of their faiths, he had not known her to seek any deity; he did not know if that was the beliefs of the Targaryens passed to her by her brother or something else.

The conversation died as she paced, pondering the report he'd given; but she gave no signal for him to leave. She was silent and he could tell she was thinking about something, she drew close and he frowned, shifting to take a step back but her hand came to his cheek. Jorah stood very still; she stretched up a little to press her mouth to his.

It was not a quick peck, and he cupped her jaw, sliding his fingers back into her hair as she tentatively teased the seam of his lips. He shifted, fighting the urge to pull her tight against him; but he angled his mouth over hers, taking a taste of her too. He did not hold her, letting her choose when to ease back; but she didn't hurry, and Jorah was not sure what to make of this.

After a moment she did step back, though she did not go far; she stared at him for a long moment and he waited for her to say something more. Unsure if it would be about his report; or the moment they had shared. He had questions about that, she had been tentative and yet she had chosen that moment.

…

Daenerys watched him go, she hadn't found the courage to ask him to stay; Jorah was different. To be with him would be different, and yet if they did not to work, she knew it would be a wound reopened for him. And she relied upon his advice more now than ever; there was still so much that she did not know.

But she did not dream of the past, she dreamt of a new world, of a free nation built by dragons; of families whole and healthy. And woke sobered, dreaming of her own, children with fair hair and soft blue eyes; a family she could not have. She would never have a family; she never truly had.

And neither had thousands of others, jerked from their homes to serve any who had the coin to buy them. Thousands were powerless to change their fate, and thousands whom she had freed trapped in that life again.

Perhaps they had prayed for their promised one, but she would not be the answer they had hoped for. Thousands of men had rose with her, resurrected by a power of her own; by the magic of the dragon within her. She would not rely upon blood magic again; she would not accept the wheel that rolled over this world; and her determination to break it remained.

That morning Missandei did not mention Grey Worm and the Unsullied but she knew her friend was thinking about them. She was too, and when Jorah came to her, he seemed hesitant to approach, Daenerys ignored it; purposely invading his space and watching his reaction.

Jorah stayed at her side as she met with Kinvara, refusing to be paraded as a prize for wealthy benefactors; proof that their religion was powerful. Daenerys drew him away after escaping the red priestess, heading down to the docks.

"Do you remember death?" She asked quietly.

"No, I remember the battle for Winterfell; but there is nothing after that." Jorah replied, she glanced to him as he mentioned the battle; she remembered that vividly.

"I don't remember anything until the priestess' incantation." She agreed, that was not her exact point, only two dragons approached as they walked along the shore; and Drogon was not one of them. "In theory the dragons are the same. I let Jon ride Rhaegal, but Viserion has never had living rider."

"Khaleesi?" His tone was soft, and she knew it was a risk. Jorah was a Northerner; he had the blood of the first men; not Valyria. But he was forever bound to her, that he was first to step through the smoke was testament to that; yet she knew the risks of what she asked.

"They have known you since they were hatchlings. They know you are mine." While Viserion might be the gentlest of her children he was still a dragon, if he did not want a rider he would not be ridden. She lay a hand on his arm. "And I need to find the Unsullied."

He was silent, he had only ridden with her once before, beyond the wall where Viserion had died. The dragons had landed and were crowding them, she rubbed Rhaegal's snout and then nudged him aside; Viserion eagerly pressed his snout closer. She rubbed his nose, and drew him closer, urging Jorah to stroke him; the dragon was not concerned by having him close.

Eventually the man did, laying a hand on the dragon's cheek, running back below his eye and towards his horn. Viserion leaned into the touch though Jorah eased back as the dragon sighed out hot air; a sign he was content. Letting out a soft chattering sound as Jorah rubbed the base of a golden horn, as he might rub a dog's ear.

Daenerys wanted to tell him to mount, Viserion's pale wing tips rested on the pier; with his wings relaxed Jorah could easily climb onto his back. But Jorah continued to pet him, now resting his free hand on the cream snout; the dragon was ready to eat out of his hand before the man mounted.

The dragon stilled as Jorah shifted, trying to find his balance and a grip; then the dragon took a few steps to stretch his wings and took to the air. The dragon banked and soared out over the sea, Jorah had leaned close to Viserion's back and stayed in place.

He circled the harbour several times before letting Viserion land, when the dragon extended his wing, she climbed up easily and wrapped her arms about his waist. They sailed south west, edging around the smoking sea, sailors avoided the area as much as possible and they would not find the Unsullied there; Rhaegal soared just off their right wing. The day wore on and Daenerys shifted, leaning her cheek against his back.

She didn't need to lean into him, but it was comfortable, and she could hear his heartbeat, feel each breath he took; always steady. Her hand slid up, laying flat against his chest and she felt him tense a little, it had taken a long time for him to relax on dragonback; apparently, she was enough to make him uneasy again. But she was at ease as they soared over the open ocean, and she let her mind wander.

Jorah relaxed after a little while, sensing she intended to stay where she was; he was good at adapting to her. He would do the same as a lover she thought, he would not be rough, pushing at her or self assuredly seeking his own pleasure. Nor would he fumble, having only been with a woman a handful of time. But he would want more from her than any of those men before, his loyalty was proven, and he would want her to return his love.

She did love him, the thought of losing him again made her pull him tighter; but their relationship was different. He was safe, and yet the meaning of that was changing for her, he could be trusted and relied upon; she never wanted to be alone as she had been after he died. And her son had chosen him though he had no dragon blood.

_…_

_In the North cold winds blew, snow and ice fell from the bleak gray skies without stopping as temperatures plummeted. Winter's grip was tight, their magic was strong after so many years dormant, they had regained their strength far beyond man's wall and now the ancient creatures prepared to reclaim their world._

_Hawk soared above it all, dipping her wings, a signal to those below; the warriors they had first made were gone. They had been destroyed in south, just as man had destroyed their villages, ancient trees and way of life thousands of years ago. Some of their elders still remembered a time before man, a time when the Forest stretched from the tall cedar and oak in the North, to the cypress and ash of the marshes and deep into the tropical rain forests of the south; when deep red heart trees grew in abundance. The ice warriors would have saved them centuries ago and given all those lands back; had they not been betrayed._

_Only the young remained, sheltered by the magic of the Forest when the warrior who created them fell. The children of those who lived in the North, the few that acknowledged theirs was true power of this world. Some were only a few centuries old, others were still babes, their icy flesh still crackling and shifting as they grew. The first they made was a man, and while he filled their purpose, he had proved difficult to control whenever he ventured from the hub of their power; the young ones were more malleable._

_They knew no other life, and they knew the love of the Forest, raised among the ancient ones. The children of ice were raised at the knee of the ancient, on stories of the past and tastes of their power; they were loyal. And today the young warriors would be given a taste of their own power, for the time was coming to return to their homelands._

_Hawk soared over icy field, below the ancient ones whispered the incantations and made the sacrifice, the children of ice stood at the knees of their people as the young warrior solemnly watched the field below. Ancient beings returned to life with the blood of the sacrifice, stiff pale legs unfolded, slowly lifting ice laden bodies from the snow._

_The dead of the true North had gone to war for them, man serving the true power of the world; now their Raven sat as the leader of man. It was time to venture South, and their warriors would go ahead. Falcon bid the young ones forward, urging them to climb upon the backs of the great ice spiders now shaking off the snow that had drifted over them; rattling the icicles hanging from them._

_Hawk dipped low, she had seen these creatures only once before, and though she knew they were theirs she stayed well above them; their sleep had left them hungry and her bird would not come too close to their fangs. The young warriors bravely climbed up, struggling to balance on their backs; unsure how to hold their weapons as the spiders began to scuttle about._

_"Take them hunting." Falcon commanded, nodding as their young warriors gained control._

_She ranged south after them, the spiders moving as a pack, clambering through the snow and ice with ease. Hawk ensured they stayed clear of their own city, ice spiders were not always choosy about what they ate, with front legs strong enough to hold a man and long fangs they were dangerous; and their own young played within the frozen walls._

_A sharp pain made Hawk abandon her bird, it came from her birth form; she was being called back to solid ground. And as her eyes opened, she rose, Falcon stood before her on the blood-soaked snow where the sacrifice they had captured only days ago lay. Man was back, and those they could catch would serve them._

_Falcon knelt next to one of the children, the vulnerable icy cracks of his flesh too weak to send into battle. "Touch him."_

_The boy reached out, changed as a babe, he did not know he had been meant to inhabit a form as weak as the one splayed before them. The boy touched the carcass, and jumped back, sheltering against the ancient one who raised him as the form stood; only its eyes remained dead._

_"It knows nothing but what you will tell it." The ancient being told him as others murmured encouragement; it was time for him to begin to train. "You will use it to master the sword and spear."_

_They would never match men in stature or steel, but their magic would, and the creatures they created fed upon the darkest of their powers. Others whispered their words of blood, stolen before they fled across the depths; escaping man the first time; but the foolish men did not know. With each incantation and sacrifice, the strands of power in this world tightened, stretching around the world. And man had destroyed the only one who could stand against them._

_"Hawk, you must go South, you shall serve the Raven; he must be guided now more than ever." Falcon instructed. "Help him choose our way."_


	5. Chapter 5

The dragons soared south, into the Narrow Sea, Rhaegal soaring off their wing, as they passed over the Eastern ports and harbors sailors stared up at them; Jorah urged Viserion low so they could see the decks. She wasn’t sure that her sails would still fly on the Unsullied ships and so they got low, hoping to find their friends resupplying in a harbor along the Essos coast; they did not know exactly when the Unsullied left Kings Landing.

Otherwise they would have to return to Volantis and mount a venture South to Naath; to let those with her know they would be gone several days. They were out over the Narrow Sea when she spotted a string of Islands and as she shifted, nudging Jorah’s shoulder and pointing; she spotted masts on the horizon.

“Those are the Step Stones, a den for pirates and smugglers.” Jorah called over his shoulder, and he eased Viserion wide to stay well clear of the rocky islands.

As they passed, she saw galleys tucked between the islands, though she could not see anyone she was sure men were watching the dragons. The East might know that the dragons had risen once more but none knew exactly what it meant.

And they soared on until the masts on the horizon grew, hope soared inside her as they flew dragon sails; sensing her excitement Viserion and Rhaegal roared. She hoped seeing them would be enough, the Unsullied had been trained in Astapor, they would know the stories of the Eastern religions; she hoped once they saw the dragons, they would continue East.

Viserion and Rhaegal dipped, skimming over the water, flanking the fleet; and she felt sad as she tried to count the ships. It was only a fraction of the fleet that they had gone West with, it was in her homelands that thousands of those who had followed her had died; died fighting for people too caught up in their own squabbles to rise together against a common enemy. The Unsullied did not know that their comrades waited for them on the other side of the sea.

There was silence as they passed the ships at the head of the group, men stared, pausing in their work to double take at the dragons. They were low enough that the men should be able to see them on Viserion’s back, but if not, they would recognize the dragons; she had lost both in the West. As they went further shouts went up and she saw a man cross to the bow; Grey Worm stared at them as men on the decks shouted.

They passed the fleet and pulled up to turn and soar over them; returning to the East. It would be some time before those who had survived Westeros would join them, but she could tell Missandei she had seen Grey Worm; that he looked well.

But they had flown a great distance, and it was late afternoon when they returned to the Red Temple and once they climbed from Viserion’s back the dragon nudged Jorah; nearly knocking him over. Before she could scold him, the knight had turned back to rub his snout, Daenerys smiled a moment. Viserion was her youngest and smallest, he had always been sweet, as mild as dragon could be; demanding attention after being ridden for the first time.

…

_She longed for home, for the frozen world she knew well and her own people; Hawk had grown up on the stories of man and the past. The stories did not explain the truth of what man was, perhaps it was a good thing that they were foolish; a wildling might have recognized what she was perched upon the arm of the Raven’s chair._

_Instead the men with swords and those who continually complained at him took her for his pet; that the boy continually stroked and petted her was a nuisance she tolerated. And she did not blame him for the hours each day that he escaped into his sight animal, man did not understand their world, the powers that stirred or the gifts they destroyed to crush each other._

_They squandered the wealth of their lands, destroying the forests and nature that could sustain them and blinding themselves to the magic of the world. They claimed seven gods, but worshiped gold and steel above all and hoarded the cold metals to a few; leaving the masses to starve and struggle._

_Consumed by arguments between houses and a tentative peace that she learned was already fragmenting; but she learned that in the hours she returned to her home. Other sight animals were roaming south as their magic stirred; their strength growing._

_It was there, the few hours that she returned to her own body that she reported everything she had heard, sitting on the arm of the boy’s chair as a bird. “Their North is weak, sickness sweeps through their castles and even the South does not have the grain or wheat to last this winter.”_

_The ancient ones winced, Falcon wanted to strike while the dragon’s magic called to the powers deep within the earth; while the world was distracted and divided. But the notion that they could wait until the Southerners were weak and unable to raise an army was tempting; they remembered the last war when some of their own turned on them. Fighting with man and driving them deep in mountains to live centuries in hiding._

...

He’d been around the dragons since they were hatchlings that clung to the Khaleesi’s arms as he used his knife to par off bits of meat to feed them. It was far different to have a grown dragon demanding his attention, and he had not realized how well the dragons knew his routines.

Used to rising early he’d made a habit of going into the streets, listening to rumors and stories in the city, but as he walked along to boardwalk the cream and gold dragon dipped to land ahead of him. Jorah had paused to stroke his snout a little the first day, and in the market paused at a butcher; selecting a side of lamb and passing over the coin for it.

Viserion was waiting when he returned, and Jorah lay a hand on his snout in warning; fighting his own nerves as he saw the second dragon coming in. He’d some fear of getting scorched as the dragon growled for his treat, Jorah kept a hand on the gold snout until he lay the meat down and then took a few steps back. The dragon quickly snatched up the lamb, tossed it in the air and sent a burst of flame skyward to cook it before Rhaegal landed.

As the green dragon screeched his displeasure Viserion dipped his head again, smoke still streaming from his nostrils; Jorah felt uneasy in the heat of his breath as he was not immune to their fire as the Khaleesi was. But the dragon came to expect him each day, expecting him to come each morning on his way to the city and again later, with the Khaleesi as she made habit to spend a few moments with her children each day.

Rhaegal might let her stroke and pet him, but Jorah did not attempt it, the dragon didn’t worry about crowding him and Jorah was quite sure might take a hand with the side of meat if his brother would let him. But Viserion was fierce when Jorah came to see them alone, resting his wing tips on the stone and creating a shelter of sorts for him to stand in, keeping Rhaegal at a distance and snapping if the second dragon tried to nudge his way in. It was a strange thing he thought, to have a dragon for a mount, he’d ridden horses the whole of his life and been taught as a boy that the bond between horse and rider would be greater if a man respected his mount and tended it himself; he’d come to value that as years went on.

As he turned back to the temple, he glanced up to see a shadow in an upper window; he knew who was watching him and went to find her. Jorah was not surprised to find the room full of women, the Red Priestess was there along with her hand maids; Ser Barristan watched from near the door. He saw the concern on Irri’s face, privately he agreed with her; it was difficult to reconcile the priestess’ words and the practices of the region. He had stepped into a conversation about visions in the flames.

“You have lost much; you have every right to question what another tells you; but the truth remains. You are here, as is every man and woman who has lived and died for you. Brought into this world for the days we face, promised for generations; let no man tell you the role you must fill. Look into the flames and see it for yourself.” Kinvara emphasized her point, as the Khaleesi paced by the window.

Her silence gave the Red Priestess more time to talk, telling her of how the faith had risen in the times of the Ghyscari; at one time the Valyrian freehold had seemed like an answer. And then the Valyrians had began to experiment with sorcery, and that had brought about their downfall.

“Leave me.” The Queen said, eyes focused on Kinvara and the woman nodded and slipped away; but before she was out the door her eyes had shifted to him. “What word of the ship bound for Mereen?”

“Two hundred slaves on board.” Jorah reported, there was nothing he could say to soften the news; and in part he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Word had spread that she lived, that she had risen from the grave, but they did not know how much she was struggling with all that meant. She had liberated Mereen, and many there would remember the freedom they knew because of the name Daenerys Targaryen; it might give her focus.

“Have they sailed?” She glanced back at her dressing table, but her shoulders were straight, and he thought he saw a little of her old fire there; she had been so sure of her mission then.

“No. Not for a fortnight; the ship’s capacity is nearly three hundred.” And they would come from the slums of this city as Dragon’s Bay clamored to re-establish their old currency.

“So, they have nearly a hundred more lives to steal from this city?” The Khaleesi turned back to him, her eyes flashing. “Three hundred lives from this city to a city which knows what it is to be free? Have the Mereenese nobles not heard the rumors? Have they forgotten my justice?”

“You’ve men willing to stop it Your Grace, just give the order.” It was Ser Barristan who spoke, it was in the fight to control Mereen that he’d lost his life.

“What will stopping one ship do?” The Khaleesi circled towards the knight. “The East claims to cry for their promised one; I shall come for them. I shall come from within their city. We must prepare. but see that it is done quietly.”

Ser Barristan nodded and disappeared; they knew that once preparations began word would spread; they would need to strike quickly. But he was encouraged, she was beginning to find her footing; and her experience as a ruler showed.

…

She sent for her knight early that morning, as she stepped close to him, he eased back a little, Daenerys considered what she wanted to do; Jorah had given his life for her. She did trust him, but she had trusted men and been failed by them so many times before; she did not want to feel that again. And Ser Jorah Mormont was not without his secrets or his faults, she’d banished him for those twice over.

But even as that thought played through her mind, she found herself excusing his past crimes, as she had when he came for her, saying that he had to leave her; that greyscale would take him. The first days, he hadn’t known her when he made the choice to spy for the Baratheon; but when Baratheon chose to harm her Jorah chosen her. He had chosen her over the home he loved and chosen her many times over, fought for her and advised her wisely; but Kinvara’s promises ran through her mind. What would the flames show her?

“Do not hate me.” She whispered, pressing her palm to his chest before she opened the small container the Red Priestess had given her; Jorah was watching her, but he did not move.

“I will never hate you Khaleesi.” He said, and he didn’t flinch as she caught the leech by the tail and held it close to his throat until it latched, and she watched as it swelled, gorging on his blood and leaving a small red mark when she pulled it away.

Daenerys closed the small case with the leech inside, tucking it into her skirts and then lay her hand on his chest; stretching up to kiss him. He let her, but she felt the tension in him, and her belly tightened; she was not sure that she had made the right choice but there was no taking it back now.

“I will go to the city and see if there is any word in the street.” He excused himself quickly, putting distance between them that made her regret the choice. 

She wanted her assurances, but she did know him, and Jorah would care more for her trust than anything else she would offer; he’d proven that time and time again. But she would not be alone for long and as she turned for the small sconce by the bed, she swallowed hard; perhaps she would see nothing in the flames, and all this would be for not.

Daenerys upended the little cup into the flames, watching the creature squirm a moment before it exploded with a hiss; Jorah’s blood pouring over the coals and the flames danced. She watched those flames and all that she saw in them, trying to memorize each image before it flickered into the next. As the last vanished sat quietly on the bed, trying to process all that she had seen; only it had worked, and it left her with more questions than answers.

“Your Grace.” A voice called softly, but it did not stir her.

“Khaleesi.”

“Daenerys!” There was a desperation in that voice.

She turned to find Irri and Missandei watching her, both looked worried and she nodded to them; drawn from her thoughts. “Yes?”

“Are you alright Khaleesi?” Irri crossed quickly to her, and took the cup sitting on the table, frowning at it; she knew there was a smear of blood in it.

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile; in truth she wasn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

Irri had come for him late that evening and Jorah knew his departure would not go unnoticed; but he went to the Khaleesi. He’d heard no news in the city, at least none that was worth bothering her with when they were to strike in two days.

The cities had turned back to their old ways and were building their trade again. There were only rumors from the West, and he would not tell her news he could not confirm; she was coping with enough. And the remainder of her own fleet would arrive soon.

Ser Barristan, still mistrustful of him, believed she should return and seek vengeance upon Westeros, while the Red Priestess whispered prophecies and stories; urging her to remain in the East and plying her with magic. But for now, both had a goal to work towards; and they would work as a unit. They would have to take Volantis from inside the city walls.

He knocked lightly at her chamber, waiting for one of her maids to open the door only to hear her call softly for him to come in, it was early for her to sleep; but perhaps she was afraid to dream again. Jorah opened the door and found her in the thin slip she slept in, pacing uneasily.

“Khaleesi.” He murmured, though he did watch her hands as she approached; he had not forgotten her putting a leech to his throat. The influence of the Red Priestess no doubt, and while he did press her on it, she had seemed uncertain herself; he did not want it to become a regular thing.

“Will you sit with me?” There was a softness to her question, and he sensed she was still uncertain of something.

“Of course.” And he crossed to the chair she indicated, seeing that she took another; they spent the next hour reviewing battle plans for the coming attack. When she offered wine, he poured them both some and sipped his slowly, talking things through did seem to settle her some; though her gaze was nervous when it landed on him.

…

She stood on the platform above the fighting pit and watched the battle play out, watching Jorah fight for his life until, as he dispatched one man the Bravosi shoved the spear through his back. Her heart clutched as he jerked, trying to hold his sword and then slumped forward; pinned by the spear and struggling to breath. Only she could not clap and stop it now, she had waited too long and condemned him to a slow and painful death, for the Bravosi did not stop to finish him but turned to face another opponent.

Daenerys woke in a cold sweat and sat up in bed, unsettled by the dream she rose, taking a cup to pour herself a little wine and paused. Reaching for the second cup that would be cleared away in the morning, reminding herself he had not died in that fighting pit but chosen to defend her once more.

When she lay back down her dreams taunted her, this time he did defeat his opponents; but when he took that spear and launched it, she looked down to watch it pierce her. Oddly enough that image was easier to dismiss, perhaps because of how many times her dreams had replayed her true death. And his.

The flames had given her dreams even more to play with, and she struggled to sleep; but when her mind took her into Jorah’s past it was only as an observer. She could pull herself from those dreams before she woke screaming, and even when the images left her chilled the fact, she only had to call for him and he would be at her side was reassuring.

She took full advantage of that, and kept him close, his presence making her feel safer than the army that camped with her. And she watched him, reaching out to touch him sometimes, or kiss him; trying to gauge his response. Trying to gauge her own, was it nerves that made her belly tighten or the feel of his mouth on her; his fingers tracing her cheeks?

His age showed a little, but she liked the feel of his scruff against her fingers, the smile lines that crinkled around his eyes when he looked at her; his gaze always searching hers. He took his lead from her and never pressed, never took more than she offered. Yet she knew she was teasing them both, soon she needed to take a chance and see if they did work.

But the morning that the masts of their fleet appeared on the horizon her men mobilized within the city and by nightfall Volantis was under her control. The Dothraki were unhappy to be on foot but moved with the Unsullied, catching the city off guard and Volantis' army could not stand against them. 

Daenerys took the great palace for herself and her forces, the men dividing chambers and quarters between themselves as survivors of Westeros arrived. Grey Worm led a unit of men into a great hall meant for hosting feasts and entertaining, she stood at the head of the room with her advisers at her sides; her hand tucked into Missandei's.

Daenerys felt her friend's reaction and steadied her, she suspected shock had already given way to confusion for Grey Worm as a look of relief simply crossed his face; she knew their real reunion would be private. As it should be, she has ensured Missandei had private quarters and anticipated the two would share. 

"It is good to see you Grey Worm, we had hoped you would find us once you saw the dragons." The approaching fleet had been used to their advantage, though those on board knew nothing of their plans.

"My Queen." The man said quietly, and she wondered how many questions were running through his mind.

"I will let Missandei update you on all that has happened here." And with the formalities aside she nudged her friend towards him; fighting the temptation to watch that reunion.

But as the men on either side of her began to shift Daenerys turned away, there was work to be done, they might hold the city but there was certainly resistance mounting against her already. And it would be thrown back, for she had not been returned to this world to watch it continue in the same.

“Ser Jorah.” She called as the man began to slip away, he pivoted easily towards her, but Daenerys saw the look Ser Barristan gave him. “Would you join me?”

“Forgive me Khaleesi, I will not be pleasant company until I wash.” He murmured quietly and she felt her cheeks flush, of course he needed to clean up. Both knights wore the grime and filth of battle, and they were trying to hide the fatigue they must feel.

“After then.” She instructed, ignoring her Queensguard who glanced at her; Daenerys turned to go.

She had two Dothraki stationed outside her door and she prowled the room, adjusting a few things to her taste as she waited for him to join her. Irri helped her take down her hair and she changed into the thin shift of a nightgown before dismissing her hand maid; knowing there was to be a few reunions tonight.

Her belly danced a little at every noise near her door, she simply needed to know if their bodies worked together; she could not make any more excuses. And Jorah deserved a reward, he’d fought bravely, leading her army in the attack and giving direction to secure the city.

When he did step into the room, she felt her nerves climbed higher, this was not a simple thing; their relationship mattered to her. And a part of her wondered if their chance had not passed, she knew he had desired her; but that was she had been free to seek her own desires and needs. He was safe, she knew he would not hurt her, and she knew he would not leave; but would their needs merge well?

“Were you hurt?” She asked quietly, offering him a cup of wine; this had become a routine for them.

“No, nothing serious.” He murmured, but he took the drink eagerly enough. Without Drogon she had been able to see very little of the battle, the men had insisted she stay safely in the temple. “We met little resistance.”

“But we will see it in the days to come.” She murmured aware that the true work had only just begun.

“Yes but the harbor is secure, no more ships will sail East with slaves on board.” Jorah reassured, taking the seat she indicated; close to hers.

“And the world will know that I’ve returned.” She whispered, laying her hand on his thigh as she made herself comfortable.

He only nodded, and she felt him shifting beneath her hand; she only rubbed his leg, exploring his reactions just a little more. The thin slip hid little from him, and while he’d seen her in it before, seen her flesh before, Daenerys wanted this to be different.

She rose, roaming towards the window seat the high window overlooked a pretty and fragrant garden. He came to stand nearby when she turned to look for him, but he did not reach for her; so she stepped close to him. Sliding her hands around his neck as she tipped her face up, searching for his mouth.

And after a moment he did kiss her lightly, his hands came to her sides; his fingers just as cautious on her. But as she pressed her body into his and parted her lips, he did deepen their kiss; his hands running along her spine. She encouraged him, moaning softly and parting her thighs; leaning into him.

When his mouth slid to her jaw she moaned; her hands sliding over his back and through his hair; holding him close to her. Finally she slipped the straps from her shoulders, knowing he wouldn’t and wanting more of his touch.

She heard his groan and eased back, watching Jorah look at her a moment before his mouth found the pulse in her throat, it was a hungry look, eyes dark with lust, his fingers feathered up her ribcage and paused just shy of the touch she had been hoping for; finding her scar.

Wanting to distract him she began pull at the ties of his shirt, but her gasp was not desire when her fingers slid beneath the fabric; she found his chest slightly furred, but the flesh knotted in scar. But his hands fell away as she pulled the sides of the shirt apart, Daenerys could not hide the grief that welled in her throat.

She knew he would have scars, all of them did, and he had a few more after his battle with greyscale; it was not those scars that upset her. Only he was pulling back before she could take a count of the scars where blades had pierced his belly and side, those were the wounds that had killed him; and her throat was closing.

“You don’t have to do this Khaleesi.” He murmured, already he’d put several paces between them, his shirt covering him once more. “Let me send for Irri.”

“No.” The order came out with more confidence than she felt, and quickly Daenerys reached for him. “Stay.”

“Don’t…” He started, but Daenerys crowded him, guiding him to turn until his back was to the window and pushed him back to sit.

“Jorah, your reaction is not fair.” She had known he would have scars, they all had scars and that he would have more; he’d survived a disease that usually killed.

But it was not those scars that had caught her off guard, they mottled his skin but were not as rough as where blades had been jammed into him. Stabbed into his belly, more than once, and into his side; through his ribs. And her chest tightened, he’d died the painful death she’d imagined in her dreams; but he went fighting until the last. Fighting for her.

“You took these for me, you have known mine; let me see.” Daenerys pulled his shirt apart further, her fingers travelling over scar and flesh; even the damaged skin stretched over smooth muscle. The scars would take some adjusting to, but she explored the details of him, the contrast of smooth skin and scar.

Parts of his back were smooth, and low around his hip, as her fingers dipped beneath his belt he shifted uneasily; blue eyes focused on her. She was the absolute center of his attention, but his hands came to her sides and stayed there; Daenerys wanted more. She wanted his touch, she wanted to feel his desire for her.

She dropped to sit in his lap, sliding her fingers into his hair as she kissed him again; Jorah only stroked her back in slow gentle strokes. He let her kiss him slowly, before his hands tangled in her hair, he was not rushed, nor did he push her hands towards his cock.

He kissed her back, his fingers sliding from the back of her neck down to her hip and smoothing back up her spine; her belly tightening in excitement. She groaned against his mouth, this felt good and it seemed easy; Jorah was going to let her set the pace.

It was only as she began to rock her hips against his thighs that he palmed her breast; his mouth found her pulse. Jorah shifted her, and at first, she tried to balance on one of his thighs; but he didn’t mean for her to. But he held her, letting her grind against him; her fingers found his belt.

It was then that Jorah stood, bringing her against him, the roughness of his chest against hers; and his strong arms around her before he lay her on the bed. She worked at his belt eagerly and then the laces of his breeches beneath, her shift lay forgotten near the window.

Jorah did not rush, he explored her body and brought her to release before he let her reach for his cock, but she saw his reaction as she did. His eyes closed as she stroked him, and she felt the whole his body tremble; she bucked against him.

Daenerys gasped his name as he joined them, fully seated he rested on his elbows; his hands tangled in her hair and his mouth met hers. She nipped roughly at his kiss, her sensitive body eagerly rushing towards release again.

He stroked her towards that desire and then withdrew to spill his own upon her thighs; but his frame pressed wonderfully into hers. They worked, and Jorah was sweet, he’d rested atop her only a moment before he rolled her onto his chest. His body relaxed beneath her, fingers running gently through her hair, she wanted to stay in his arms and closed her eyes; willing sleep to come peacefully tonight.


	7. Chapter 7

_In Westeros the snow fell thickly upon the capitol and Hawk soared through the storm, enjoying the cold and relishing the truth. Even when the army had marched, they'd not seen snow this thick so far in the south. Falcon had been right, the power of the young ones was far greater, and now they had the Raven with them._

_The city was freezing, and their Raven spent too many hours tied up listening to men demanding he provide for them, find supplies and grain. But man was not well equipped for the snow, nor did they have the resources to provide for their people; there was no unity._

_When she left her hawk in the capitol and returned to her own body she learned that mans' North fared far worse, and those who had ventured into their lands had been forced to weather the winter at the Fist; building their camp in the caves._

_"We should send a storm and freeze them into that mountain." One of the elders grumbled._

_"The spiders will make short work of them. All the lands beyond the Narrow Bogs are rightly ours. And they've still a few weirwoods down there." Another snarled._

_"This land is ours, and man shall fall; but we must let our strength grow. Our warriors have yet to see a century out." Falcon spoke decisively. _

_"And the dragons?" Another asked, the green of her skin had faded to a brown tone with age; she was old enough to remember the times of the dragons and the reason they fled to this land._

_"These men murdered the dragons, fire will not save them this time." Falcon spoke confidently, but Hawk knew he was watching the stirrings in the East._

_Their young Raven struggled to see so far, and their ancient leader worried it was more than just the Raven's inexperience that sheltered the dragon woman from him. They had felt a great surge of magic in the world not so long ago and the heat of it had taken a toll upon their young warriors who had never felt such pain; the magic of fire was far off. They knew the dragons lived, but their leader was right, dragons were bound to a weaker species; and these to a woman. A man had killed her here, she would have no love for this place, and they only wanted to reclaim their homes; they could leave the East to her. For now, until more blood poured into their warriors. _

...

She woke slowly, Jorah’s shoulder her pillow and she realized he was awake; tensing as she shifted. But Daenerys did not move to allow him up, instead she rolled up onto her side, using his torso to help her. Then her fingers ran carefully over the roughest scars, had he not suffered these he would have lived, and she would have died in the North; in his homeland.

She’d promised to take him home, but only taken him as far as the holdfast of his liege lord; a man who had driven him from his home. Ned Stark had acted justly, but Daenerys felt a sense of guilt in that he’d never truly gone home; they had spoken of home often. His hand covered hers and tried to shift her away; Daenerys lay her palm flat over one of the marks.

“I don’t know that I will ever return to Westeros.” She whispered, smoothing her hand to another. “Though I don’t know that I have a place here either.”

“You have a place; you’ve made it Khaleesi.” Jorah murmured, and she saw him glancing to the rising sun; he wanted to slip from her bed before they were found.

Daenerys did not care if they were found, and she did not ask him if he wanted to stay; she needed him. She had slept last night, slept soundly for the first time in so many nights, knowing she was safe because he was with her. Jorah was safe, he was handsome in a way, he had been a good lover and she suspected as they learned each other’s bodies that would only get better; but he was loyal.

He had come to her in a battle, died for her, just as he had lived for her. His betrayal forgotten, forgiven for he had betrayed her before he knew her, once he knew her, he’d chosen her. Chosen to serve her in hardship, chosen her over his reward and a promise of the home he longed for; chosen her when she banished him. And she loved him, theirs was a different relationship; it was not like the others.

She kept him with her that morning, watching him in the fogged mirror as Irri and Missandei helped her dress; and Sava glanced at him with curiosity. The other two women knew full well what his presence meant but did not react and Jorah stood at the window; his discomfort obvious. And he walked with her to a great chamber, a map of the East painted upon its table, the smooth surface glossy; ready to begin work for the day.

In taking the city she learned a great deal, Volantis had been deeply invested in the slave trade for generations and had a longstanding tradition of taking the poor of the city as goods to sell; the only good thing was they kept meticulous records. Jorah and Missandei had begun compiling them and on a map spread across the counsel table she could see the forces each city had at its disposal and the number of slaves they had received this year; already the cities of Dragon's Bay had imported a quarter of a million slaves. The trade had only been alive a few months, but it was Astapor who had taken the most. 

That annoyed her, but as she scanned the map, her eyes landed on the fragmented islands of the smoking sea; Valyria. Sailors avoided those waters, and men spoke of the calamity that fell upon that place, shattering the lands and buildings, man and dragon, destroying a great civilization. There were no records on Old Valyria for the city hadn’t been inhabited for centuries; at least by any other than the stonemen. But those men committed no crimes, except contracting a disease that the world would let kill them.

A place that smoked centuries after the doom claimed it, the place of her ancestors; another homeland that she’d never known. She knew their language, and their blood ran through her veins; it was that which her children sensed. It was that ancient magic that called to the dragons.

…

As they left the counsel chamber Ser Barristan headed him off and Jorah sighed; he knew this was coming. He’d caught more than one of the Queensguard’s glares in the past few days, but the Khaleesi did not let him get far from her; in her own way he sensed she was still unsettled.

She didn’t let it slow her down, they were all kept busy as she tried to gain an understanding of the world; of the politics in the East. She did not speak of the West anymore, except in the past tense; and Jorah still felt anger burn within him for the crimes committed against her there. And while that excited the Red Priestess a few of them had other concerns.

“You should not be distracting her now to satisfy a whim, or taking advantage of your Queen.” Ser Barristan ordered, the offense in his voice admirable.

“I do not take advantage of the Khaleesi, and I will do nothing to harm her.” He would swear that as an oath; just as much as he would swear revenge upon those who had. “But my crimes, all that I have done are known to her; she makes her choices freely. As I make mine; and I am no longer any threat to her cause.”

“She is a Queen, the Queen of Volantis now but if her dream of a free world is to be realized she will conquer the East. She might yet make a good match, better than you; better yet if you don’t sire a bastard on her.” Ser Barristan argued.

“Careful.” His jaw clenched and his hand moved instinctively to his sword at that insult and he sensed that the knight realized he had crossed a line.

But there was more to that, with some of them it was obvious, though their bodies were whole now they bore the scars of their death; and thanks to the Red Priestess’ delight in proclaiming it the tale would span the world soon, if it hadn’t already. The man glared at him, frustration in his eyes before he turned away, stepping quickly to the side to avoid colliding with Missandei; the Khaleesi and her maids approached.

“Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan; good. Ser Jorah and I will be taking a trip this afternoon, I do not know if we will be back tonight. Work with Grey Worm to ensure patrols run as usual. Ser Jorah, with me.” Her tone was brusque, and he sighed; hoping the Red Priestess had no part of this.

Her last idea had the Khaleesi playing with leeches, and the dreams or visions it had started had only upset her more. But he obeyed, following her down the corridor. When one of the guards appeared with a small pack, a skin of water attached to it, Jorah took it.

“I want to see Valyria. I want to see my homeland for what it is; what remains of it after the doom. I want to know if there is a place in this world that will feel like home to me.” The ferocity of that statement was in her eyes, she knew the stories of Old Valyria; and she knew what she asked.


End file.
